


A stupid little thing called Love

by Preetyladyserenity



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: Action/Adventure, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5036803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Preetyladyserenity/pseuds/Preetyladyserenity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been four years since Smithers and Burns got together and Burns plans to make it special for his partner and assistant. But an old enemy from Burns' past appears seeking for revenge putting the whole relationship into danger, and their lives as well. Sequel to Abandoned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: A night to remember.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Charles Montgomery Burns sat up and threw his book away in frustration. He could not concentrate. The lines would become blurred and he kept reading the same sentence over and over again.

“You mean to tell me he's never told you before? Never?”

Patty Bouvier's question had echoed in his head ever since he had heard it a few hours ago. 

FLASHBACK

Mr. Burns stood outside his boyfriend's door. His and Smithers' four year anniversary was fast approaching but this year the younger man seemed to act differently than on how he did during their previous anniversaries. While he used to be overly excited and wanted to plan everything this year he seemed jittery and they had yet to make plans. Mr. Burns was not the man to express excitement for such social conventions as anniversaries, but this did not mean he did not enjoy them. Therefore that day, which so happened to be Waylon Smithers' day off, he had decided to drop by the younger man's apartment and propose that he, Monty Burns, would take care of the celebrations this year.

Upon arrival, he heard voices coming from inside the apartment.

“You mean to tell me he's never told you before? Never?”

“Pat it's not a big deal!I don't mind! I really don't!” Smithers defensive protests were heard.

The older man stood there. It was obvious they had been talking about him and if he had any doubts they were cast away with Patty Bouvier's next exclamation.

“You two have been dating for four years...he's never told you he loves you...and YOU don't care.”

The tone of her voice was stating that she was not buying any of Smithers' words. Monty Burns could only imagine the look she was giving Smithers right now. He always felt uneasy when he had to meet Patty Bouvier and this was not because he used to date her mother. It was because the young woman had the ability to look at people and it was as if she could read the depths of their soul.

“Of course I care!” Smithers blurted out, “It's not like I have an option though do I? Do you think I'd hate the idea of hearing him saying it to me? But he isn't going to tell me cause that's who he is!”

“Waylon...”

“Pats, I really don't want to go into this. I don't want to over think about it cause then I'll start hoping that maybe this year he'll tell me and if he doesn't...”

Smithers voice softened and turned silent. Monty Burns turned to his heels and drove home.

END OF FLASHBACK

The old plutocrat sighed. He had always thought that Smithers knew how much he loved him. If only the young man could hear how his heart skipped a beat every time their eyes met. If only he could see how he secretly gazed at him while he pretended to read his morning newspaper. It was not easy to translate his feelings to words because he had to describe logically a feeling that was purely illogical. 

His feelings for Waylon were one of a kind! He could not put them into mere words. Saying that he just “loved him” was an injustice to Smithers himself. His chest swelled with pride to have such a competent partner in life. He cherished him so much that it made his mouth dry, his palms sweaty, his cheeks red and turned his witty vocabulary to jumbled knots. Every word he wanted to say seemed empty and meaningless. He had meant to declare his feelings to him ages ago but everything seemed idiotic and fake to how strongly he felt.

Monty Burns let out a groan. If only there was a way to tell Waylon how he felt. Or at least show him how strongly he felt. He looked at the calendar on the bedside table next to him. Their four year anniversary was only three days away. He decided it then. He was going to plan their anniversary's celebration all by himself and then he would say those three words to Smithers in the most special way possible and he planned to practice saying it until it came out perfectly.

-)-)-)

Waylon Smithers Jr. stepped out of the car letting out a giggle. He was feeling a bit tipsy from the wine and the way Monty had been behaving made him feel giddy. On their fourth year anniversary's celebration Monty had been very attentive. He had reserved the best restaurant in town for them and after having an excellent meal they had danced together. Then he took him for a stroll near Springfield's riverside. There he held his hand and embraced him under the moonlight before kissing him passionately. This had to be the most romantic date Monty had ever planned. Yet the evening was far from over since he had one more thing planned for them tonight.

“Hush Smithers,” Monty hissed as he got out of Smithers' small car, “you'll wake the hounds,”he continued as he unlocked the mansion's door. “How can you drink a mere drop of wine and get tipsy, but have huge amounts of whiskey and not; I'll never comprehend.”

“I don't know,” Waylon whispered softly and passed his left arm around his lover's shoulder, “Monty thank you so much for tonight.”

“The night is far from over Waylon,” the older man whispered back affectionately, “I still have a few more aces up my sleeve.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Smithers offered, tripping slightly and losing his balance.

“Just go to my study and relax,” Monty answered, “And be careful with the door...”

“I know, we don't want to wake the hounds!” Smithers finished his warning. He took out a cigarette and lit it up.

“Be careful with that cigarette,” Mr. Burns warned as he moved towards the kitchen, “Don't set my study on fire.”

Waylon motioned with his hand and went towards the study. Monty Burns entered the kitchen and opened the fridge to find a bottle of champagne.   
“OK Monty, you can do this!” he encouraged himself as he got out of the kitchen. He heard a faint 'thump' coming from the study and then another one. “What in Jove's name is Waylon doing in there?” he wondered. “He's going to wake the hounds.”

It was at that moment that it dawned Monty Burns that something was not quite right. The had not heard his hounds bark or growl at all with all this racket. This was very unusual for four top notch, ferocious guard dogs. He heard another thumping sound coming from the study.

“This isn't right,” Mr. Burns thought, “Smithers would never…”

He felt his blood run cold. This was highly unnatural. Someone apart from him, and Smithers, was currently in the mansion. His hands went to the inside of his jacket where his Beretta holder was. He pulled the gun out, loaded it and placed his finger over the trigger. He tiptoed to his study's door and saw that it was slightly open. He heard the sound of movement from inside and peered through the open gap.

Smithers was on the ground, clutching his head and there was a man pointing a gun at him. Another man was tossing the books from the shelves to the ground, looking for something.

“Where's Burns?” the man towering over Smithers asked.

“I've told you,” Waylon replied rubbing his head, “He isn't here. I just came over to get some documents for him.”

A punch landed on Waylon's face, making Mr. Burns wince. Smithers let out a groan and placed his palm over him mouth, spitting slobber in the process. 

“You're lying Mr. Smithers,” the man said coolly, “I don't appreciate being lied to. You see I know you're lying because of this-” he leaned down and grabbed the semi-burnt cigarette that lay on the carpet, “You wouldn't be smoking so idly if your boss had been working late and waiting for you to bring him something important, would you? So let me ask you once again. Where's Mr. Burns?”

Smithers stared back at him. If he was currently feeling any fear he was not letting it register on his face.

“Do I look like his mother to you?” Smithers finally replied.

The punch landed on his nose so strongly that he fell back on the floor. Blood oozed down his nostrils and the taste of iron in his mouth made him gag. Waylon Smithers Jr. truly hoped that Monty had realized what was going on and ran for help. He had not heard his car start, nevertheless, which worried him. For all he knew Monty was still in the house.

“The book ain't here Joe,” said the man searching the bookcase.

“Goddammit!” the man called Joe exclaimed angrily, “Thank you for giving him my name Frank. I am Joe, he is Frank and you're Waylon Smithers. Now let us all exchange addresses and phone numbers and arrange a FREAKING TEA PARTY WHEN ALL THESE ARE PUT BEHIND!” 

Waylon Smithers' heart thumped strongly against his chest. He knew how dangerous the situation had just turned. He saw the man named Joe raise his armed hand and landing it on top of him. The cold metal landed on his head and the pain was so unbearable that he passed out.

Charles Montgomery Burns' fingers went for the trigger the moment he saw Waylon landing unconscious on the carpet. He had been watching the men and thought. He thought hard. It was evident that they were hired to look for him and a book and they wouldn't stop until they could find it. He looked behind him. If this had happened four years ago he would had up and left, driven to safety and he would had left Smithers deal with the situation on his own. Yet this was no longer about him.

Smithers mattered a lot to him to abandon him to his fate. He, as a result, stood there and observed the the scene, calculating the outcome of his next action. It was meaningless to call the police. That incompetent baboon Wiggum would get them all killed for sure. He thought of World War II and his youth. What would he had done in such a situation?

Meanwhile the two men stared at Smithers, who lay motionless on the floor. Joe let out another curse. They had taken care to disarm the mansion's alarm, sedate the dogs to sleep and destroy the surveillance cameras. They had never thought that they would had entered the house to find Burns missing. They had been watching the mansion for the past month and a half and the old man was always home and in bed by ten every single working day. His assistant would sometimes spent the night at the mansion during the weekdays but they had planned to enter the house and leave very quickly. Yet that night they entered the master bedroom to find Burns missing, the only one inside the building was Waylon Smithers and they had no more time to put on searching.

“What are we going to do with him Joe?” Frank asked once more and he quickly aimed his gun at the unconscious assistant. “I say we shoot him.”

Monty Burns tried to move forward but his legs wouldn't. His heart was thumping fast and he closed his eyes trying to calm himself. Smithers' life depended on him. Why could he not move? 

A memory from World War II flashed before his eyes.

“Don't be a fool Frank,” Joe hissed and put his hand over his partner's gun, “I'm not risking the needle for a break-in.”

“He saw our face Joe,” Frank insisted, “He'll squeal on us. I'm not going to prison again.”

The two robbers faced each other in anger, their guns slightly lowered. It was at that moment that Charles Montgomery Burns' feet moved forward.

A shot pierced through the silent night.


	2. Seething Regret

Chapter 2: Seething regret.

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Matt Groening.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night a pistol shot echoed from the mansion on the corner of Croesus and Mammon street in the Springfield Heights district. The manor was, nevertheless, isolated from the rest of the houses in the area and, therefore, the pistol shot was not heard by anyone outside its premises.

Inside the manor its owner, Charles Montgomery Burns, held the gun that was shot. He was standing in front of the two men who had broken into his house, pointing his Beretta and seething in anger. His assistant, and lover, lay on the study's floor unconscious and the man known as Frank was now holding his shoulder in shock and pain. 

The man named Joe turned his gun towards him but he was a second too late. The bullet pierced his shoulder and was blinded by agonizing pain, dropping his gun on the floor.

“Amateurs,” Burns thought secretly, thanking his lucky stars. He knew his reflexes were not what they used to be and he had fought a World War to know that the two men were not skilled killers. Had they been ones they would have not dropped their weaponry just because a bullet had landed on them.

Burns aimed at the men and edged towards them. The man called Frank tried to reach for his gun and the second bullet landed on his kneecap breaking it into pieces. Frank screamed in agony as Mr. Burns stood over him, kicked the gun away and placed his foot over the wound.

The Joe fellow was much wiser to attempt something more dangerous. Monty Burns took his gun and aimed it at him.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” the older man asked Joe aiming the gun at him.

Joe felt a shiver down his spine. His partner writhed in pain as the old plutocrat twisted his foot around the gun wound. Monty Burns looked at both of them dangerously. He suddenly turned his attention to Frank and put all his weight on the shot kneecap. Frank screamed loudly as the bone broke into smithereens and passed out. 

Joe looked at Monty Burns who sniffed in contempt and lowered himself to look at him in the eyes.

“Your friend wouldn't survive an hour on the battlefield,” he commented staring at him with his icy blue eyes, “I wonder how you would fair.”

The young robber felt the gun on his shoulder. The metal was hard, warm and heavy and he knew his shoulder would break into miniscule pieces if the older man pulled the trigger.

“I'll talk!” Joe exclaimed pleadingly, “Please, don't shoot me.”

“My finger is itching,” Burns said wickedly, “So don't try my patience.”

“We were approached by a man. He said he used to work for Fat Tony. This guy had a client that wanted to deal with you. I told him I'm no assassin but he said that his client wanted you alive. We only had to bring you to him. So we agreed.”

Charles Montgomery Burns knew it was futile to ask for the client's name. He had dealt with people using such means a few years ago; long enough to know that in such situations the client's name was not to be disclosed to goons. This fact, nevertheless, did not mean he could not toy with his captives a bit longer.

“Carry yourself and your partner over there,” he ordered Joe and pointed at an area near his writing desk.

Joe stared at him quizzically. The older man did not press him with more questions which was unusual.

“I have no patience for lollygaggers,” Burns ordered dangerously, “Do you wish to try my patience further young man?”

Joe felt the gun's trigger click and grasped Frank with his uninjured hand. He crawled towards the spot, dragging Frank and growling in pain.

While he moved Monty Burns sat behind his desk. He looked at both men for one last time and then pressed the red button under his desk opening the trapdoor. Joe and Frank tumbled down a long pipe until they landed in a dark room with a scream of agony. Joe looked around. There were no windows and he had to blink a lot until his eyes would adjust in the darkness.

“There's a strange thing about getting old,” Charles Montgomery Burn's voice filled the room and Joe turned his attention to the speaker it came from, “You tend to get attached to people and things more easily. My assistant is one of those people, and it greatly dissatisfies me that he will have to stay away from work to recover due to you hitting him. I don't like it when people disrupt my routine. Crippler, my eldest and most trusted hound is the same as I am. Unfortunately today I had to put him inside the house because it's getting cold and it has started to affect his bones. So he's not too pleased. I think you can help him appease.”

Joe looked in terror at the old, ferocious guard dog which growled from the room's far end. He was tied with a chain and was trying to run towards them.

“Crippler,” Mr. Burns' voice came out. The dog stood still listening, “Daddy's not very happy right now but you're a good boy don't you Crippler? So Daddy's sending you some chewing toys.”

Monty Burns pressed another button causing the chain to be untied. He heard a scream of fear and turned the connection with the room off. He picked up the phone and dialed a number.

“Ahoy there,” he said a few seconds later, “Yes it is I, Monty Burns...Tony my boy, there are two chewing toys in my mansion my lad. I think they might be of interest to you….No, no need for bloodshed in my mansion my lad….Yes….I'll see you tomorrow in the afternoon. Be discrete during your visit here…. My regards to the family.”

-)-)-)

Waylon Smithers Jr. woke up in terrible pain. His head throbbed so hard as if someone had been hitting him with a sledge hammer for hours. His face ached and he could not breathe through his nose properly. He could not remember what had happened. All he could recall was that he was supposed to pick up Monty for their date once he had finished getting ready. Everything was blurry without his glasses and he felt confused and unable to concentrate.

A hand touched him making him shot up and recoil in terror. He let a yelp and tried to shoo the hand away. He knew that something bad had happened but the pain in his head was too strong and the voices around him were loud and incoherent. The hand came closer and he fought to escape it, only he was too weak to move.

The hand touched his chest again and was followed by a voice he could not comprehend. The tone and pitch of the voice, though, was immediately recognized.

“Monty?” he let out hoarsely, “What happened? Where am I?”

The voice came out again but it was still unintelligible. Smithers strained his eyes trying to see but the pain became unbearable. He could not understand the reason why but upon listening to Monty's voice he felt a wave of relief so powerful that tears started streaming down his cheeks. He felt confusion, happiness, irritation and sadness – all mixed together in his throbbing head. A wave of nausea suddenly overtook him and he leaned forward.

Charles Montgomery Burns managed to bring forward a vomit bowl just in time and was asked to leave the room as Dr. Hibbert was hurried inside.

The old plutocrat sat on the chair, outside the room feeling exhausted. He had summoned Dr. Hibbert immediately after speaking with Fat Tony; and Smithers had been moved to the manor's private hospital wing in less than thirty minutes. Hours had passed since then and Smithers had been examined and moved to his own personal chambers. His mind was racing.

The two men who were hired to kidnap him were also looking for a book. He was irked at himself for not asking about it before throwing them down the hatch but once he remembered about it; he was too busy thinking of Smithers' welfare to go find them. This book vexed him. He had made lots of enemies in his lifetime but he could not recall an occasion where a book was involved. He, Monty Burns, did not make a habit to keep memorabilia of his personal victories, something the situation could imply. He also owned a collection of rare manuscripts but he could not imagine someone wanting to hurt him over them. After all he was ready to part with any book in his collection if he was made a handsome offer.

His trail of thought was put to a halt when he heard the room's door opening. Dr. Hibbert came out and stood over him. Monty Burns followed him to his office.

“I am sane enough not to ask what has happened tonight Mr. Burns,” Dr. Hibbert started, “and paid handsomely enough not to attempt to,” he concluded with a laugh. He turned serious, nevertheless. “Truth to be told, Mr. Burns, your assistant needs lots of attention right now. He's suffering from a severe concussion and temporary amnesia of the events that led him injured. He's bound to be physically unstable, unable to concentrate and, maybe, emotional once his memory returns. I wouldn't recommend for him to be left alone for at least three days and he must avoid work for the next ten.”

“Have no worries doctor. Smithers will be safe and sound in my manor. I expect you to be at arm's reach if needed though. I wouldn't want something to happen to my assistant as...”

“I know – the filing system,” Dr. Hibbert chuckled knowingly his look implying that he found his excuse amusing, “Do you wish the nurse to sleep in the room tonight?”

“There's no need for this doctor. I served a World War long enough to know how to take care of an injured comrade. He can sleep down the hall in case he's needed.”

Having shown the nurse his temporary room, Mr. Burns entered the bedroom where Waylon lay. He took off his suit as quietly as he could and changed to his night attire. It was two hours until sunlight but his body was resisting tiredness. 

He sat on his bed, close to Waylon and stared at his lover. Smithers' face was swollen and bandaged and he let out snores while he slept. Monty Burns had to control the urge to get down to the basement and blow the brains of those idiots because looking at Smithers, his Smithers, so frail and vulnerable and weak made him want to hurt them even more.

He lay down next to Waylon, so close their cheeks could almost touch. He had not planned their anniversary to end like this and it seemed so unfair that Waylon could not remember their hours together. All the event that were supposed to lead to his declaration of love were erased from Waylon's memory and could no longer be remembered fondly.

“I don't know what mess I've dragged you into Waylon,” he whispered in his sleeping lover's ear, grasping his hand, "but I'm so sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is just getting started and I enjoy writing it so much. I wanted to create a Burns that even though he is in love with Smithers, he is still cruel and will torture someone for revenge or to get his way. I hope I will become better at writing him as this story progresses


	3. 3. Traumas

Trauma – by preety_lady_serenity

Disclaimer: The Simpsons do not belong to me. If they were I wouldn't have to worry about my student loan.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

“He sat on the ground his face covered in blood. His head was racing. Monty was in danger. He had to slow them down! He had to give him time to run away! The two men sounded angry but he could not understand a word they were saying. The taste of blood made him feel sick. They looked at him angrily and then one of them raised his gun”

Waylon Smithers Jr. shot up in terror and bumped his head on something hard. Monty Burns yelped as the younger man's head collided with his chin. Waylon fell back on his pillow.

“Smithers you dolt!” Mr. Burns let out; rubbing his chin, “Don't you get another concussion on me.”

The old plutocrat sat on the bed's edge and rubbed Waylon's head where it had just bumped on him, making the younger man blush. He was not used to be taken care of and Monty's affection, and attention, caused him to feel giddy and flustered.

“Did you have another nightmare?” Mr. Burns asked him in concern, still petting a lock of hair, “It's the sixth one in the last three days.”

“I think my brain is trying to remember,” Waylon replied feeling soothed by his lover's touch, “Though I wish it would choose to remember our anniversary date rather than the attack.”

“Now, now Waylon,” Mr. Burns slightly scolded, “We've already talked about this. It'll come to you sooner or later...”

“Or never,” the younger man scoffed unhappily, “Why can't I remember it? It was supposed to be special!”

Monty Burns looked at Smithers worryingly. The fact that he had forgotten the events of their anniversary's celebration appeared to be more traumatic than the attack itself. He became so fixated to remember that night's events that he had woken up two nights before, sneaked out of their bedroom and entered his study trying to find any traces of what they had done. Yet having suffered a severe concussion caused him to get dizzy, lose his balance and land on his office's couch with a 'thud'. It was lucky that he, Monty Burns, woke up to find him missing an hour later. He searched the house and found him in his study unable to stand up. He cursed himself for listening to Waylon and sending the nurse away that afternoon. It took all his strength to carry him back to their bedroom safe and sound.

The day after that they had a serious conversation.

“You don't have to remember it,” the older man reasoned, “It was not much different than our other dates.”

“Don't you sugarcoat the pill for me Monty,” Waylon interrupted him, his voice raising a pitch, “I need to remember it – I've got to remember it – We don't have a lot of opportunities for this – I-”

Waylon placed his head into his hands in frustration. Not being able to remember any time he had spent with Monty sucked. He had saved all of their memories together, however indifferent they may were, at the back of his mind because they were important to him. It was those memories that made him feel secure. It was those memories that proved to him that the little boy who had been neglected the first ten years of his life could find love that was unconditional.

Monty's hands coaxed his away from his face. Waylon stared back at his lover and was shocked from the look he gave him. He had been working for Charles Montgomery Burns for more than two thirds of his life; and he only recalled him giving him a look of apology a handful of times.

“Waylon, for all that is worth, I'm truly sorry this happened to you” he said looking down.

“I know Monty,” Waylon said feeling exhausted, “The lack of sleep isn't helping either. And I really want to return to work soon, and feel like my old self, and at least read a book without getting dizzy after five minutes.”

“You've been bed-bound for six days. It's normal to feel frustrated,” Monty reasoned, “I don't think that Dr. Hibbert would object if you had your coffee in the veranda today afternoon. I'll ask him if you want to.”

“OK,” the younger man answered with a yawn, “I'll try to get some sleep as well. Will you go to the Plant today?”

“No, not while you're still bed-ridden at home.”

“The Plant will suffer without you,” Waylon said guiltily, “I don't want you to stay at home just because of me. I promise I won't be doing anything dangerous.”

“I can't simply leave you alone to fend for yourself for sixteen hours.”

“Here's the deal,” Smithers tried to convince him, “If Dr. Hibbert says it's OK for me to get out of bed today, then you'll go to the Plant for a few hours every day until I get back to work.”

Mr. Burns let out a sound that could only be translated as an unwilling consent and then turned his attention to the serving tray that he had left on the bedside table.

“Here. I made this for you,”he said proud for his accomplishment and presented him with an omelet.

“Oh Monty,” Waylon chuckled uneasily, “I wish you didn't go through so much trouble for me. You know I don't have much of an appetite in the mornings.”

“What is this fiddle-fiddly? Monty Burns let out indignantly, “You always had a big appetite in the mornings. It's only since the attack that it has diminished. Come on. Do try!”

He scooped a piece of the omelet with the fork and protruded it towards his lover's mouth. Smithers Jr. looked at it for a few seconds and sighing in defeat he opened his mouth.

Smithers chewed trying not to let his features mirror his disgust. Monty was a bad cook and this was primarily the reason he insisted on doing the cooking for him. To say that the omelet was overly-salted was an understatement and there was this crunchy texture that could only be attributed to eggshells. Nevertheless the young man forced a smile of appreciation, gulped the bite quickly and then took a sip of coffee. At least Monty's coffees were to die for.

“I hope you find your omelet enjoyable, “Monty let out with a look of satisfaction that it would have been criminal to nullify, “I'll let you rest for a while. I've got some work to do.”

As soon as he heard his lover's footsteps moving away, Waylon Smithers leaned down and let out a whistle causing a small Yorkshire Terrier to pop out from under the bed. He, then, placed the plate on the floor and waited. The dog sniffed the food, whimpered and disappeared under the bed.

“Herc,” Waylon hissed, “Herc you come out and eat Daddy's food this instant. Herc!”

-)-)-)

Charles Montgomery Burns put the phone's headpiece down. Dr. Julius Hibbert had agreed for Smithers to leave his bed and enjoy some time outside. This was, nevertheless, to be done with caution. The young man was not to be left alone and reading or any other work that required concentration were to be avoided.

Now he was facing a dilemma. He had, reluctantly, promised Waylon to go to the Plant if the good doctor would allow him out of bed. Yet, knowing him, Smithers was bound to do something stupid if he was left alone, such as trying to remember what they had done during their anniversary dinner. On the other hand Smithers was right. The Plant was suffering without him. He let out a snort of defeat and dialed a number.

“Ahoy there!” he exclaimed trying to sound pleasant, “May I speak to Miss Patricia Bouvier? … Certainly...I'll hold… Yes, Patricia this is Monty Burns here…. I have a favour to ask...”

Thus it was arranged for Patty Bouvier to keep Waylon company while he was at the Plant. Monty Burns shuddered as he put the phone receiver down. Patty Bouvier reminded him of a dissatisfied sister-in-law; the kind of those that would never approve of him because Waylon could do so much better. After he informed her that Waylon had been attacked she went into a verbal lashing mode. She commented on how he, Monty Burns, would be the end of Smithers and how she hoped her friend would wake from whatever trance he was into and realise that it wasn't worth it. 

She then visited the mansion with two plates of chicken casserole, scared the hounds and spent the evening playing chess with him while Waylon slept.

He was about to get up and search for a book to read when his phone rang once more.

“Ahoy there,” he exclaimed, “This is Charles Montgomery Burns speaking.”

“Hello there Mr. Burns. Tony D'Amico here.”

“Tony my boy,” Mr. Burns said casually, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I just called to thank you for the two little weasels you gave to me. After my cousin's death I've had enough trouble handling the familia's business to deal with two idiots going rogue on me.”

“You're welcome. Let's cut this hogwash, nevertheless. You didn't call me to thank me, did you?”

“All right Mr. Burns I'll get to the point. The two chewing toys you've sent me told me that John the Pincer was the one to hire them. John the Pincer used to work for my cousin, but after his death we had a disagreement and he disappeared. Anyways I decided to pay him a visit and see what was all about. See who wanted to mess with you.”

'I'll remember this Tony my boy. So did you find this Spencer guy?”

“Pincer Mr. Burns, Pincer. Anyway I found where his joint is and go there with my boys and knock his door. No one answers. So my boys pick up the lock and we enter and there's this stench in the room – like a dead chicken you know – and there's John the Pincer, sitting on his couch, in his t-shirt and underwear, with his throat cut from side to side – dead.”

“Obviously.”

“Huh?”

“Anthony my boy, if his throat was cut from side to side then he was bound to be dead.”

Anthony D'Amico cleaned his throat. The old man could be infuriating but he did good business with him so he decided not to answer back.

“What I mean to say Mr. Burns is that he was killed and I checked around to find who he had crossed. It seems that he performed well when he was assigned a job, except in your case that is. He gave the job to the wrong sort of people and it seems he paid for this.”

“I see,” Monty Burns said icily, “Thank you for telling me this Tony. I owe you a police bribery. May I ask for a favour?”

“It's always a pleasure to do business with you.”

“Can you ask those two idiots – they're still alive, aren't they?”

“No worries, I only ruffed them up a bit more. I don't know if they're still in Springfield though.”

“Find them and ask them what book were they looking for in my bookcase.”

“I'll give you a call as soon as I know.”

Monty Burns hang the receiver and stared outside the window. His fingers were itching. He curled them and uncurled them as he thought. Who had he crossed recently? It made no sense to him. The Pincer fellow had died because he had failed to bring him to his employer. He, Monty Burns, tended to avoid making enemies that were psychotic enough to kill him. Yet there was someone declaring war on him and sending him a message that he would let no one get in the middle of their vendetta.

He had to discuss things with Waylon soon.

-)-)-)

Patty Bouvier entered Burns Manor and was led to its gardens; at the back of the estate. Waylon was sitting at a lounge chair and seemed to enjoy the sun on his skin. The woman sat on her lounge chair and offered him a cigarette. She took one for herself and lit it up.

“You look atrocious,” she said nonchalantly and took a whiff.

“You ought to know. You're the queen of atrocious,” he replied not taken aback by her greeting. He was, nevertheless, taken aback by her reaction. Patty Bouvier put her cigarette down and swiftly pulled him into a bear hug. “Pat, still hurting – can't breathe through boobs,” he let out a muffled protest.

“I'm so happy to have you back,” she said loosening her grasp a few seconds later, “I got so worried when I first saw you and you couldn't form a coherent sentence.”

“Severe concussions can do that to a person,” he replied smiling sheepishly.

“Still, I was so worried. Dang it Waylon! I wish you weren't such a hero. What would have I done if something terrible had happened to you? Is he at least taking good care of you?”

Waylon winced momentarily when she heard her tone addressing Monty as the “he”. Patty had always been a sceptic about Mr. Burns' suitability as his partner. It was probably because she had spent twenty years of her life consoling him whenever Mr. Burns would brush him off. Or the fact that Monty was still the same mean-spirited man towards the rest of the town.

“He's treating me very well,” he protested, “In fact he's been pampering me from day one. He even made breakfast for me today.”

“Are you sure he's not trying to poison you?” she joked but her eyes mirrored her satisfaction to his answer, “Did Hercules take the shot for you again?”

“Pat!” Waylon warned her but started laughing, “Come on give him some slack. He's after all the reason we ended up being friends.”

“Really?” I didn't even know,” she let out a fake exclamation of surprise she had heard a thousand times.

Waylon let out his thoughts trail back at that time when his mother had died in the accident. He had developed a phobia of forming relationships with others to the point he had become a loner. It was not until Mr. Burns noticed his behaviour and they had a serious discussion. He, Waylon, confessed that he was afraid of making friends because they could die at any given moment. Somehow Mr. Burns had convinced him to try and make new friends and he even promised him that he would tell him when he was about to die; so he would be able to say his goodbyes. The next day Waylon tried to start a conversation with Patty Bouvier. 

“Waylon, Waylon get off your Burns cloud,” Patty let out with a mock scowl, “I swear you're such a bad host.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I the only one that would love the prospect of a Waylon/Patty friendship episode? The friendship has been hinted over the years but still not fully presented.


	4. Loving Suffocation

“Papa,” her voice echoed making him shot up in his sleep. He looked around the dark room and then he remembered. Jenny, his little Jenny, was not coming back. Her mother took her away. It was all Charles Montgomery Burns' fault. It was his fault his Jenny was taken away. It was his fault she died. That man had killed his baby girl. She had only been seven years old! He took everything away from him. He had pay! He had to pay for stealing her book.

He was in pain. His head hurt and it felt like it was on fire. He had to take his painkillers. That would let him sleep. He would sleep long enough to feel better and get his revenge.

He called out loud for her to come. His teeth clenched. That woman that lied to him and gave him the weird medicines. She had hid away his painkillers. He knew it was all Burns' doing. He must have been the one to hire her to torment him. He called for her again but then she remembered. The woman was now staying in the garden, where he put her. He was no longer at that place where they constantly lied to to him. 

He stood up and sat on his chair. He opened the desk's drawers and found two pills. He gulped them down. Jenny's photo stared back at him from inside the drawer. She was a blond cheerful girl with a teddy bear in her arms. He still had the teddy bear but Burns stole her book. He saw it in his study.

“What would a grown man do with a little girl's book?” he asked out loud his head about to explode from pain, “He doesn't have any children.”

“He's keeping it to cause you pain and misery. So that Jenny will be unhappy,” a shrill voice reasoned. “If you get the book she can be happy once more.”

“I don't know where he hid her book,” he whimpered.

“That's why you need to bring Burns' here. He'll tell you where to find it. But to get him to talk we need to do that other thing.”

The man took a piece of paper and started writing. He looked at the stash of photographs that were placed on the wall; a wallpaper made of newspaper articles. Charles Montgomery Burns was in all of them and next to him there was the man in question. He was in his early forties, the age his Jenny would have been. He felt sorry for the bespectacled man but this was only for a few seconds. He could not be soft now. Burns had to talk so he could find peace. No, he did not want to kill the young man but he would do it, eventually, because he knew Burns. Burns would force him with his behavior to kill him. He looked at what he had written and returned to bed.

-)-)-)

Waylon Smithers Jr. looked at his image with a scowl of displeasure. The skin near his nose and right eye was not healing as fast as he wished to. He had been back to the Plant for four days but his appearance still limited the amount of work he could do. He did not want his appearance to influence any of Monty's business meetings negatively. He, therefore, excused himself from all the upcoming business appointments until he could fully heal. His face was currently plagued with a greenish-yellow bruise that was a reminder of what had happened that night. Unfortunately that was the only reminder of that given night as his memory of the celebration had never returned. 

“Waylon I'm ready,” he heard Monty's voice as the door of their bedroom opened abruptly, “Smithers, how much time do you plan admiring yourself. Wear some clothes on will you?”

Monty Burns stood before him and was staring at him with a look of satisfaction. He was in his good, blue business suit, which caused Smithers to realise he was still naked, except from the towel he had wrapped around his waist.

“Shit!” Waylon let out and hurried to his wardrobe, “What time is it?”

“Quarter to nine,” Monty Burns said idly sitting on the room's only armchair.

“QUARTER TO NINE?” Waylon screeched as he hoped on one foot trying to wear his new gray suit's trousers, “Monty, why didn't you call me twenty minutes ago?”

“And pass the chance to miss this nice view?” Monty teased him back sardonically, meeting a 'Monty' of frustration, “Well, truth is, my dear Waylon, that I did call you twenty minutes ago. During your Malibu Stacey shower bonanza.”

Waylon Smithers Jr. hurried to his bow-tie holder box and found his blue bow-tie. He placed it around his neck and turned swiftly towards the mirror to tie it, almost colliding with his boss.

“Hold your horses Smithers,” Burns let out placing his hands on the man's chest to prevent the impact, “Let me inspect you first.”

“Is this truly necessary?” Smithers let out only to be ignored.

“You always had problems with buttoning your shirt straight, and tucking in your shirt properly,” the older man commented slyly as he fondled with the man's buttons.

“Monty, you're supposed to be buttoning, not the other way around,” Smithers almost whined trying to button his shirt where Monty was unbuttoning. It had always been that way. The more nervous and anxious he, Waylon, would be then the more in the mood for teasing and love-making Monty would become. “Monty I need to to tie this,” he let out a moan as the other man's hands found their way into his boxers, “Mr. Brannan hates waiting. I asked- ah- Monty for the love of- ah – is this the right time?”

“Waylon, Waylon, is there ever a wrong time?” his lover whispered hoarsely as he sucked the nape of his neck.

The younger man let out a moan and placed his hands around Monty's waist, drawing him closer. He planted his lips against the other man's for a long, deep kiss. He felt Monty's grasp loosen a bit as he bit his lower lip.

“Not fair,” the older man whimpered in defeat as he felt his knees give away from the lack of oxygen. He let his body rest inside Smithers' arms as the younger man stopped kissing his mouth and pecked his cheeks, allowing him to get the oxygen his body needed to function.

“I'm sorry Monty,” Waylon whispered between pecks, “I'm not allowing anyone to make you late for your appointment, not even yourself.”

“Slave driver,” Monty Burns scoffed as he tried to tie Smithers' bow-tie, still not having regained the use of his feet.

“What can I say?” Smithers chuckled not letting him go, “I've learnt from the very best. I promise to make it up to you tonight.”

“Smithers you would have been just a babe in the woods if you had thought otherwise.”

As he was driven to his appointment Monty Burns pondered upon a topic that was irrelevant to the upcoming business occasion. With the incident of the mansion getting broken into, and Smithers' severe concussion, the subject of him declaring his love was put aside. It was a fact that he had taken care of Smithers with a lot of devotion while he was not bed-ridden, but this was not what Smithers longed for. He wondered when would be the time to tell Smithers that he has brought chaos to logic and essence to his being. And how…

“What are you thinking about?” 

Smithers was busy driving one of the company's cars and was not looking at him. For a second Monty Burns felt his cheeks flame and his breath taken away. The young man looked absolutely dashing in his gray suit, white shirt and serious look behind his glasses. This was the Smithers he so adored, the person he so rightly deserved to call a life partner.

At that point he did not care about making it special. He just wanted to say it there and then. He opened his mouth only to find he was a second too late. The car stopped in front of a tall building and Smithers looked at him with his work face on and that reminded him that declaring love was not to be done prior to a business appointment.

“I'd prefer it if you attended the meeting,” Mr. Burns commented as he checked his papers one more time, “I don't think John Brannan would mind your bruise.”

“This might be the case,” Smithers reasoned, trying not to argue with him, “but I still have a lot of work waiting for me at the Plant, before meeting you again after you lunch with Mr. Brannan.”  
.  
“Just be careful, will you? We still haven't found out who was behind the mansion's break in. And as I said...”

“I know Monty,” Smithers interrupted him, with a tone that suggested he had heard the line a lot of times, “It's a direct declaration of war.”

“Smithers do take me seriously,” Monty Burns said; a tone of annoyance painting his voice.

“I'm taking your words seriously,” Smithers replied in equal annoyance, “but stop sheltering me and worrying as if I can't take care of myself.”

“Well go and get yourself killed then!” the older man voice rose a pitch, “You think it's nice catering for your every whim and fancy?”

“No one's asked you to do it if you don't want to,” Waylon said icily.

“Who said I didn't want to?” Monty argued back, “But you're too – OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE!” he exclaimed and pierced his lips together, “I can't do this right now. I need to be calm for this meeting.”

“Monty-”

“Mr. Smithers,” Burns cut him off, “I do not wish to speak to you right now.”

He got our of the car and entered the office building in front of him. Waylon Smithers Jr. took his cigarette packet out and lit one up. He inhaled the smoke, letting his nerves calm down. He let out a sigh. Ever since his concussion they had both been to their wits' end. He had become irritated due to his amnesia and the fact that Monty had become too overprotective for his liking made him feel as if he was suffocating. He, Waylon Smithers, had spent a large chunk of his life feeling smothered. At first it was because of aunt Vera's, his adoptive mother's tendency to overprotect him. Her fear of what would happen if people were to find out he was a homosexual caused her to take him to therapies and had chocked any form of self-expression. In his fear of causing his uncle and aunt disappointment he decided to keep his own feelings hidden. It was this mindset that had kept him from confessing his feelings to Monty. He feared that he would lose the only person that allowed him, in rare occasions, some portions of self-expression. Yet Mr. Burns was not the ideal person to love.

Waylon Smithers Jr. was not the naive person he often let out, nor he let love cloud his judgment. He always knew that Charles Montgomery Burns was a horrible, money-loving, manipulating bastard that would go to great lengths to get what he wanted. He just pretended not to notice as he did not wish to bring attention to who he really was. His friends called him crazy for being in love with the most hated man in Springfield and he suspected that his soul would benefit greatly if he chose a kinder person for a life partner. Yet he couldn't. Mr. Burns' mannerisms fascinated him. It was amazing how a man that looked so fragile could be so fearless and how he would not hesitate to destroy people if that meant he would get what he wanted. Some people would say that they were an odd couple but reality was that they were too similar. Smithers loved the thrill of power he felt while he was with the older man. He did not care about what other people would say or think of him; not when the strongest man in Springfield would show how much he appreciated his efforts.

At some point, unfortunately, things turned sour for him. Monty started treating him in the same cruel way he treated other people; even worse sometimes. That caused the feelings of suffocation to return once more. Yet what was worse was his own feelings. His inner reactions scared him and made him feel conflicted. There were days he adored the man and then he would feel so angry with him that he mused on how easily he could poison him and get over with him. And his hands would itch so much to punch him. Those feelings scared him and there were days that he longed to get rid of the infatuation he felt. The unfortunate thing was that Mr. Burns never failed to sense his displeasure and a few moments later he would do the one thing Smithers craved the most. He would give him his most sincere smile of appreciation. At that moment Smithers would be reminded that his shackles would not break easily. 

It wasn't until four years prior that his life changed. He had returned to his apartment from a wedding celebration he had attended with Patty. He had taken off clothes, put his pajamas and fell on his bed. He had spent the weekend away from his boss, surrounded with friends and was feeling relaxed and totally happy. He took his alarm clock to set it on his waking hour and to his horror he could not do it. He could not bare setting a foot in that Plant nor he could find the power to cater for Monty's needs. That night he called Patty in a state of sheer panic, crying and asking for help. A month later he resigned.

Losing him was the catalyst that made Burns realise how much he could not be without him. Once they started dating Monty tried his best to treat him as his equal and even though they had their rocky moments ever since he, Waylon, felt his lover and partner appreciated him. The last four years had been a bliss with him being pampered and his thoughts taken into consideration. Ever since the attack, nevertheless, things had changed. Monty treated him as if was a vulnerable person that would not survive danger. That irked him so much as he felt that his partner did not trust him nor had he realised what he was capable of. Waylon put off his cigarette and drove away.

-)-)-)

Charles Montgomery Burns inhaled and exhaled sharply trying to soothe his nerves. The situation had been dragging too long for his liking. He hated to admit it but Waylon had been right about him being overprotective. The outcomes of that attack had somehow managed to shaken him. Smithers was the kind of person that seemed to bounce back however difficult the situation was. Yet, he was almost killed that night and had collapsed far too many times from its outcome. This had caused him to realise that Smithers was younger but he was not indestructible. He, Monty Burns, had always thought that Smithers would outlive him but at that moment he realised that this might not be the case. In fact what truly worried him was the fact that Waylon had always put him first over his own safety. What if that person that was after him attacked and Waylon got hurt again trying to save him? Or even worse, get killed. This was the reason he wanted to be close to him at all times. So he could prevent the unimaginable.

“Mr. Burns,” a young woman approached him and shook his hand, “I'm Mrs. Ranger – Mr. Brannan's assistant. I've spoken on the phone with your assistant – Mr. Waylon Smithers -” she stopped and looked around trying to spot the missing person.

“Mr. Smithers won't be joining us today,” he grumbled, “I need someone competent at the Plant as my team of consultants will also be in this meeting.”

“I see,” the young woman stated, “Let me inform Mr. Brannan of your arrival. Can you please follow me?”

He was led in a big room as Brannan's assistant informed her boss of his arrival. A few moments later the woman returned and led him to her boss' office. A man in his mid-sixties stood up from behind his desk and greeted him with a strong handshake.

“Monty, how long has it been?” he asked him with a smile.

“It's twenty-five years Johnny boy. How's life treated you? The last time we did business together was when you and your brother decided to sell me your store after that unfortunate stock market incident.”

John Brannan's face dropped but quickly regained its smile. Mr. Burns was known to be caustic in his remarks but reality was that he needed someone as callous as he was to do business with. Setting a firm alone had started to show its signs and it was rumored that Burns has a protege that would take over once he had decided to resign. Or at least that was what he sources told him. 

“I took my share and set a clothing business, as you know, then I turned it to a franchise business and here we are.”

There was a knock on the door and Brannan's assistant announced that everything was set at the conference room. They stood and as they did so Brannan's beeper let out a 'beep'. The younger man looked at it and for a second his eyes hardened. The ' beep' was brushed off, nevertheless, and they were led to the conference room. 

-)-)-)

Waylon Smithers Jr. had returned from his Plant inspection when the phone rang.

“Burns Nuclear Power Plant, this is Waylon Smithers speaking,” he answered and he was greeted by Fat Tony's voice, “Mr. D' Amico, how may I help you?”

“I need to speak with Mr. Burns,” the Italian mobster replied.

“Mr. Burns is currently at a business meeting. May I take a message?”

“I found the two fellows that arranged your face new. They told me about the book they were looking for.”

Waylon Smithers listened carefully and then put the receiver down. This could not be right! It made no sense! He looked at his watch. It was still half past seven. He took out a cigarette and lit it up. He inhaled and exhaled, taking the smoke in his body. It had a soothing effect. As he smoke his thoughts were racing. The book that Fat Tony had described to him was not unknown to him. This was not a surprise as he had access to Monty's library ever since he was a little boy. Yet the book in question never belonged to Mr. Burns. It belonged to him. It was a children's book; a 'Mother Goose Nursery Rhymes' book his mother had bought him when he was seven years old. He met Monty in the park two years later. As a child he used to take the book with him to the manor when he visited Monty for 'Reading Friday'. He tapped his index on the ashtray thoughtfully. How much time would he need to go from the Plant to his uncle's and aunt's house.

He felt his mouth turn dry the moment he thought of his aunt. He had not seen her for a long time – three years to be exact. He always felt immense sadness when he thought of her. Waylon loved his aunt. He truly did! He had been neglected by his mother as a child and she had been like a second mother to him. When his mother died she adopted him without a second thought. She always pampered him for being her precious little boy. The only thing she could never approve was his fascination for Monty – and then his attraction to boys.

At the age of seventeen and after five years of on-and-off “treatments” that she dragged him to, Waylon Smithers Jr. decided to “reform”. He decided not to get into trouble again, got a girlfriend and married her as soon as he finished university. On his wedding day he looked as Vera's eyes shone with pride and happiness, took a deep breadth and walked down the isle finalizing the chapter of her dreams. He spent two very empty years until he started working for Monty. Then chaos broke loose.

FLASHBACK

He sat there and wished the armchair could swallow him. He had uttered the words they always knew but he was not allowed to say out loud. He wanted them to realize that he had finally found someone he could call a life partner and he truly wished them to be a part of his relationship.

“I love him,” he repeated his final statement. He looked at his uncle, who had turned his attention to his wife and waited. She quietly stood up and moved towards the door.

“Auntie...” he squeaked and shot up trying to stop her, “Listen I didn't mean to...”

“I can't deal with this,” she let out hoarsely, pushing him away and ran to her room.

“I'm sorry!” he shouted in agony and looked at his uncle in desperation. The older man just looked at him guiltily and for the first time Waylon Smithers felt really vulnerable. 

“Waylon,” the old man said in a quivering voice after what seemed an eternity, “You're my kid and I'm going to be there for you. I want you to be happy,” he hugged him and petted his head like he used to when he was a little boy, “I'll talk to Vera about this. Go home. I'll call you in the morning.”

Waylon Smithers Jr. entered the mansion and went to his bedroom. He changed to his pajamas and lay on his bed. He turned to his side and tried hard not to let the escape his eyes. His chest hurt and felt lonely; as if his mother had died once again. Why couldn't she accept him for who he truly was?

He heard Monty's footsteps approaching the bedroom and took his best sleeping pose. The older man shuffled in the en-suit bathroom for a few moments and then entered the bed. Waylon squeezed his eyes shut as he felt two boney hands wrap around him. He felt the tears roll down his cheeks and somehow Monty's cologne made him want to bury his head against the chest that held him and cry.

“It's OK if you want to cry,” Monty's voice stated, “I won't mind doing the pampering every once in awhile.”

That night Waylon Smithers Jr. cried himself to sleep.

END OF FLASHBACK

He put off his cigarette and shook his head. There was not time for him to become a mess. He placed the phone receiver to his ear and dialed a number. He let it ring thrice and hang up. He looked at his watch. Once sixty seconds passed he called again. He started counting the dial signals. He knew that if he were to reach the fourth one without answer he ought to hang up and try later.

“Hello?” an old male voice answered the phone, “Waylon is that you?” he asked in hesitation.

“Hi Uncle Jim,” he said softly, “Yes it is I. How are you?”

“I'm good my boy,” the older voice answered happily, “It's good to hear your voice. I haven't had a phone call from you in a long time.”

“I've been very busy with work, and life,” he answered truthfully. He was glad that at least his uncle was speaking to him.

“That's no excuse,” the voice grumbled, “You'd think you and your partner would take the time to visit me when Vera's not here. You have no shame – letting the man who played horsie with you alone in his old age.”

“I'm not really allowed to your house uncle,” he let out with a sigh, “and I don't want to stir trouble between you and aunt Vera.”

“It's your house as well,” Jim said seriously, “You should at least try and visit when she isn't here. Like today for example. She'll be away for at least two hours,” he proposed sneakily.

“I've got an hour to spare. I'll drop by as soon as I can.”

Fifteen minutes later he found himself outside the house he had spent a large portion of his childhood. He knocked the door and a few seconds later it opened to reveal a man in his early eighties. He wore a pair of jeans, a white shirt and his white hair and beard were neat and tidy. The old man allowed him in and grasped him into a hug.

“Waylon my boy! It's so good to see you son,” he whispered emotionally but his face dropped when he noticed the bruise on his face, “What happened?”

“The perks of having the most powerful man in Springfield as your life partner, and boss, extend beyond flying to Paris on a whim. Sometimes you get to protect him,” he answered with a smile, “It was nothing serious, I swear.”

“I've made some coffee,”his uncle said not insisting on details, “Do come in! Tell me your news.”

“How's my aunt,” Smithers asked as he drunk his coffee, avoiding to look at the man sitting opposite him.

“Don't worry Waylon. She'll bury us all” his uncle said bitterly.

Waylon drunk his coffee quietly.

“Listen Waylon,” his uncle reassured, “This isn't your fault. I want you to know that. This lifestyle of yours is not something you could choose.”

“I'm sorry uncle,” he said huskily, “I've ruined everything.”

“Waylon Smithers Jr.” the old man reprimanded him, “Don't you ever apologize for who you are. If there's someone that should be apologizing it is I, and her.”

“You?”

“Yes, I. I should have put an end to this madness years ago. I should have put my foot down when you were twelve and she dragged you to all the therapists around – should have made her see reason. Now it's too late. I came to terms with who you are years ago, but I didn't dare to stop her cause I didn't want to admit it. I truly sorry for this. Never love on your terms Waylon.”

“I need something my mother gave me,” the young man said not baring to sit any longer, “Can I enter my bedroom?”

The older man stood up slowly and let him to his childhood room. Waylon opened the door and saw his bedroom exactly as he had left it before moving away to university. He saw his bookcase with the medals from the school chess tournaments, his books and his soccer uniform.

“She cleans this room every day,” his uncle said painfully, “she even clips every article she sees with your name and Mr. Burns'.”

“And yet she won't be in the same room as I am,” Waylon said with bitterness as he found the book he was looking for.

“She loves you only on her own terms,” the older man said and his face dropped, “She's here.”

Waylon turned his head to see outside the window. Aunt Vera parked her car in the driveway and looked around only to miss him as he hid behind the window's curtain. Her long brown hair were gone due to the chemotherapy. She walked inside the house, holding a grocery bag in her hands.

“I'll hide in the closet,” Waylon said slowly and entered the confined space.

“Jim?” her voice echoed, “Jim?”

Jim gave Waylon one last look, “You shouldn't be hiding. Not in your house. You should be using the front door, not leaving your house like a thief.”

“I don't want to upset her. Not while she's going through chemo,” Waylon reasoned, “Don't worry uncle. I've got thicker skin that I let out.”

He closed the closet's door and seconds later she entered the room to find his uncle, who pretended to be looking at his medals.

“Waylon dropped by,” his uncle stated, “You've probably missed each other by a few seconds.”

“I know,” she replied fluffing the pillows, “I've seen the cups – smelled his cologne. What did he want?”

“A book. He asked how you're doing. As always -_”

“I know where this is going Jim,” she cut him off, “and I don't wish to go over it again” 

She got out of the room quickly, followed by her husband.

“He loves you very much and he really wants to see you,” Waylon heard as he tiptoed outside the closet and opened the window.

“He should have thought of that before deciding to live with that man.” were the last words he heard. He ran to where he had parked his car as fast as he could. He put the book in his briefcase, lit a cigarette and drove away.

-)-)-)

“I found this to be a satisfying meeting,” Charles Montgomery Burns said as he shook John Brannan's hand, “Yet we shall meet again to finalize the deal. And you can meet my associate, Mr. Smithers, as well.”

“Certainly Mr. Burns,” the other man said and his beeper went off again, much to Monty's displeasure. That infernal device had been beeping incessantly throughout the morning and even though Brannan chose to ignore it, Burns found it extremely distasteful. He could never understand young people's fascination with new technological devices, especially the ones that made you too available to everyone and anyone. At least Smithers could control himself and used his beeper rarely.

He got out of the building as Smithers parked the car. The young man got out and opened the door for him. They both sat inside, avoiding to look at each other.

“Mr. Smithers -Sir -”

They talked at the same time and stopped. Mr. Burns turned to look at him but Smithers kept focusing on the road ahead him.

“Smithers – Mr. Burns - “

They spoke again in unison. Mr. Burns pierced his lips together.

“Waylon – Monty -”

“Goddammit!” they both shouted in unison and fell silent.

“So, are we going to talk to each other or are we going to continue to pretend we are the film protagonists of the local petting pantry?” the older man scoffed crossing his arms.

Waylon Smithers smiled briefly at the anachronism but turned serious once more. This could not go forever. It was going to destroy them.

“How did the meeting go?”

“I think it went well, if one disregards John Brannan's love for beepers,” the older man replied, “How was your morning at the Plant?”

“Not too bad. Same old's same old. But we're currently graced by environmental activists.”

“Is Lisa Simpson one of them?”

“No sir.”

“Well there's no reason to worry about.”

The trip to the Power Plant remained silent. Once they arrived Mr. Burns entered his office while Waylon sat on his desk outside. It was near lunch and nap time and Smithers pondered upon entering Monty's office and talking to him. Yet they had promised to leave their personal life outside the office so he decided to eat his sandwich on his own. He took his sandwich and started munching it as he looked at the workers shutting down the reactors and moving towards the cafeteria.

Suddenly something caught his eye on the monitor that showed the parking lot. There was someone moving in all fours and doing something. He squinted his eyes and then stood up. He had to tell Monty.

He knocked the door twice and as soon as he heard a welcoming response he hurried inside.

“I need to check your monitors,” he said and looked at the television screens on the wall. He quickly found the parking lot's camera and he was certain.

“Call security,” he told Monty as he ran out of the room, “There's an intruder in the Plant.”


End file.
